Detentions, Dishes, and Daycare
by Rhianwen
Summary: [Updated!] A follow-up to the episode, 'Little Ditch, Big Glitch.' My take on how Team Samurai + Malcolm would have dealt with being thrown into detention together. Of course, nothing is ever that simple... Dishes for some, and Day-Care Hell for others.
1. Part I

It Happened One Detention  
  
  
  
Summary: A follow-up to the episode, "Little Ditch, Big Glitch." I always wondered exactly how Team Samurai + Malcolm would have dealt with being thrown into detention together...particularly if Principal Pratchert took it over. Here's my take. Vague Malcolm/Sydney, less vague Sam/Jennifer and Amp/Yoli (although neither girl appears in this).  
  
  
  
Disclaimer: Well, you know the routine. I don't own the characters, and I don't know who does.  
  
  
  
"This bites," Sam Collins groused to his three life-long best friends one Monday afternoon as the four of them sat, posture drooping, in the small, cramped, uncomfortable desks of the detention hall, waiting for the allotted after-school penance to begin.  
  
"You know we deserved it, Sam," Sydney Forester reminded him sternly. "We did cut class, after all."  
  
"Aw, Syd, it's not like we would have learned anything if we'd been there," Tanker huffed. "When's the last time you learned anything from Mrs. Larson's bio videos?"  
  
Sydney looked horrified.  
  
"You shouldn't say things like that about someone battling for their life in the hospital!"  
  
At this, an uncomfortable hush fell over the clump of desks.  
  
"Poor Mrs. Larson," Amp sighed. "Who would have thought she was allergic to snake venom?"  
  
"Uh...Amp?" Sam spoke up hesitantly, choking back a laugh.  
  
"I wonder what she was thinking, working with those snakes with no protective gear..." Sydney mused with a sigh.  
  
"Maybe she forgot they were snakes, and thought they were puppies, or something," Tanker snorted, referring to Mrs. Larson's severe forgetfulness, which seemed to grow only worse over the years. Just that past week, Tanker had been called Malcolm by that same teacher, and hadn't liked it.  
  
As though catching on to the path the narration had taken, Sam glanced up at another student, seated carefully as far from the four friends as was possible, without being partially out the window.  
  
"At least Malcolm's suffering in here, too," he sighed, as though this were scant consolation.  
  
"Yeah," Tanker agreed, scowling at the dark-haired youth.  
  
"I don't like to wish ill on others," Sydney began, leaning in closer to Tanker, Amp, and Sam, "but it does feel good to know that he's being punished for his constant skipping, for once. I mean, I fully accept that we're paying for our stupid move, but it's a lot easier when I know that Malcolm isn't out there, getting away with hardly ever being in class."  
  
"I know what you mean, Syd. I mean, everyone knows he does it, but since Principal Pratchert can't prove it, they can't punish him for it," Sam added, shaking his head.  
  
"It's too bad, too," Tanker noted glumly. "Bet he wouldn't keep doing it, if he didn't keep getting off scot-free."  
  
Sam shrugged.  
  
"Yeah, but what can we do?"  
  
"You can hush up before the four of you get yourselves another day of detention," a stern voice from the front of the classroom suggested.  
  
Sam's eyes widened. Beside him, he heard Tanker and Amp groan in dismay.  
  
"Principal Pratchert?!" Sydney exclaimed with all the dismay that Sam felt.  
  
"In the flesh," the dark-skinned man grinned at her.  
  
"But...but...where's Mr. Peters?!" Malcolm demanded, seeming to be rather close to tears. It was a well-known fact, even to those who had never been in a detention before, that Mr. Peters, having been thrown into the detention hall several times in his youth, was remarkably easy on the students who found themselves there. Usually, he would leave a few minutes in to go for coffee, and leave the students to conduct themselves as they wished, returning only a few minutes before it was time to dismiss the young deviants.  
  
"Mr. Peters is off sick with intestinal flu, Malcolm," Principal Pratchert informed the boy, who promptly bid goodbye to any chance of getting more work done on his current art project. If Pratchert was taking over, the whole room would probably be sitting in silence for the entire two hours, hands folded on their desks, five minutes added to the sentence every time someone moved or made a peep. Damn Kilokhan for hypnotizing him into confessing to the theft of the principal's hall passes! Oh, he would have his vengeance. That, he would. Malcolm internally shook his fist at the heavens in fury.  
  
It is fairly safe to say that Sam, Sydney, Tanker, and Amp were looking forward to the two hours to come with every bit as much loathing as Malcolm was. It was a beautiful day, and they could be outside, enjoying the fresh air. And Principal Pratchert deciding to take over definitely only made matters worse. At least Mr. Peters might have let them open a window...  
  
"And since I'm taking over today, you can all expect things to be a little different. Who all do we have here?"  
  
He peered out over the classroom.  
  
"Only the five of you, huh? Well, that makes things a lot easier."  
  
"U-um...easier?" Sam choked slightly.  
  
"Yes, Mr. Collins. Today, instead of all of you sitting here, wasting time, you're gonna help out around the school."  
  
"What?!" Tanker exclaimed.  
  
"Small odd jobs. Just to make various people's lives a little easier," the principal explained.  
  
"That's not fair!" Malcolm protested.  
  
"For once, I agree with Frink," Tanker muttered.  
  
"Oh, come on," Sydney broke in, nudging Tanker with her elbow. "It's better than sitting here, just waiting for two hours to be up."  
  
Principal Pratchert beamed.  
  
"Exactly! Thank you, Sydney."  
  
"Yeah, I guess it's a good idea," Sam said doubtfully.  
  
"Alright! If we're all agreed-" Principal Pratchert began, slapping his hands together.  
  
"We're not all agreed," Tanker and Malcolm chorused together, then turned to glare at one another.  
  
"-then let's get started," the teacher finished. "One of our cafeteria kitchen staff is ill, and there are plenty of dishes to be washed."  
  
A collective groan of protest rose from the five teens as they rose to their feet and started toward the front of the room.  
  
"Sam, Tanker, and Amp will do that."  
  
Sydney blinked.  
  
"Um, sir? Then what do we do?"  
  
The principal turned to her.  
  
"Sydney, you and Malcolm will be doing something a little different. Our school is currently hosting an after-school fun-time play shop, on a volunteer basis, for parents to send their kids to after school for a few hours. You two will help out with that."  
  
"Surrounded...by...screaming...whining...brats...for two...hours..." Malcolm whispered brokenly, eyes wide with horror.  
  
"At least we aren't washing dishes with Mrs. Starkey," Sydney reminded him consolingly. "You know what a perfectionist she can be with her dishes."  
  
He turned to glare at her.  
  
"Shut up."  
  
Sydney turned to gaze entreatingly at the principal.  
  
"Can I go with Sam, Tanker, and Amp?"  
  
He smiled kindly at her.  
  
"Now, Sydney, just give the fun-time play shop a chance. I think you'll have fun,"  
  
"Or I'll lose my mind and run screaming from the room," she added under her breath, catching Malcolm's eye.  
  
"You two stay here, while I take these three to Mrs. Starkey," Principal Pratchert instructed the soon-to-be babysitters.  
  
"Bye, Sydney," Amp called to her with a sympathetic expression.  
  
"Yeah, see ya, Syd," Sam added, his tone very similar to the sort that one might use to bid farewell to a terminally ill patient for the last time.  
  
"Just hold on, Sydney," Tanker whispered to her. "It can't last forever."  
  
"All right, all right. That's enough," Principal Pratchert admonished, leading the trio of young men from the detention hall.  
  
Sydney let out a breath shakily.  
  
"Wow...why do I get the feeling that this afternoon is going to go on forever?"  
  
  
  
  
  
"Alright!" Sam exclaimed ten minutes later, adjusting his hairnet and pulling on his rubber gloves. "Is everyone ready?"  
  
Following suit with hairnets and gloves, Amp and Tanker nodded, both leaping into position before the sink filled with soapy water and the massive stack of dirty dishes next to it.  
  
"Let's..." Sam began slowly, drawing the word out.  
  
"...SANITIZE, GUYS!" the three teens shouted together, heedless of the strange looks they were receiving from the rest of the cafeteria staff.  
  
With that, they dove into their work with more zeal than discretion, and as such, the sound of breaking dishes echoed through the large industrial kitchen several times that afternoon.  
  
"Y'know," Amp spoke up, gathering up one such casualty, "all things considered, this could be worse."  
  
"True," Sam agreed.  
  
"Yeah; Malcolm could be here," Tanker suggested with a shudder.  
  
"Oh, c'mon. He's not that bad," Sam protested.  
  
"I'm sure Sydney thinks different right now," Amp said glumly, and the three boys shared a moment of silence in remembrance of the most horrifying fate that had befallen their friend.  
  
  
  
If Sam, Tanker, and Amp could have seen, rather than just imagining, Sydney's exact fate, they might have chosen to send in the National Guard rather than simply observing a moment of silence.  
  
At that moment, the unfortunate Miss Forester was half-kneeling before a child-size sink sprinkled with various bright colours of polka-dots, trying vainly to scrub a large splotch of red finger-paint from the front of her light brown jumper-dress, while at the same time attempting to tell one particularly insistent little girl the story of a beautiful young princess with the same appearance and name as that same little girl, and also trying to safely pry from around her neck of a little boy who had demanded a piggy- back ride RIGHT NOW, and was not taking no for an answer.  
  
"...And it was at this point that the beautiful young princess Kelly met a charming and handsome young prince named Rowan..." Sydney continued with the story, trying futilely to infuse her voice with some degree of interest while still shouting above the din of the playroom, packed with upwards of three-dozen small children. The result of these three-dozen children was, as one might guess, complete and utter Bedlam. 'Where's a strait jacket when you need one?' the newly assigned baby-sitter wondered exhaustedly.  
  
"Steve," Kelly interrupted, frowning at her.  
  
"Right, right, a handsome young prince named Steve," Sydney sighed, giving the large red stain on her front one final desperate scrub before tossing the soap-soaked rag to the side and wincing as an angry shout of,  
  
"I'll get you for that, Forester!" rang through the air.  
  
"Sorry, Malcolm," she called tiredly. "Hey, while I've got your attention, do you want to help me here? Maybe you could give this little guy a piggy- back ride?"  
  
"No!" that same little guy exclaimed, clinging more tightly to the young woman's neck. "He's a vampire!"  
  
"Peter," she choked, "please let go. I can't breathe."  
  
"I wanna wear your hat!" another little boy announced, tugging at her hand.  
  
"Fine. Here," she said, dragging off her hat with her other hand and shoving it onto the child's head.  
  
"Yaay!" he cheered, skipping away.  
  
"I'm not a vampire," Malcolm informed no one in particular, crossing his arms and scowling moodily at the world.  
  
"Of course you're not," Sydney agreed, patting him comfortingly on the arm. "You just look a lot like one."  
  
"Hey!" Malcolm protested.  
  
This, however, was swallowed up entirely by young Kelly's shriek of,  
  
"I want more story!"  
  
"Okay, Kelly, okay. Let me just put down Peter, and we'll finish your story," Sydney hastened to assure the little girl, whose large green eyes were steadily filling with angry tears. One more second, and...  
  
"NO!" Kelly howled. "NOW!"  
  
"Malcolm!" Sydney tossed pleadingly in his direction. "Can you finish her story?"  
  
"No," he replied quite calmly from his little wooden chair painted a bright red and pulled up to a washable-top table that came up to about his knees.  
  
"I hate you, Malcolm."  
  
"I know," he assured her with an evil smirk.  
  
Sydney shook her head in defeat.  
  
"Alright, Kelly, after Princess Kelly met Prince Steve, they both fell madly in love right away. Then, with the power of love, they vanquished the evil witch. Then they travelled back to Prince Steve's kingdom, and got married," Sydney explained quickly.  
  
"And what then?" Kelly pressed.  
  
"Er...they had two beautiful children."  
  
"And a pony!"  
  
"And a pony," the curly-haired teen sighed. "Well! End of story, so now, if you'll excuse me, I have a piggy-back ride to deliver."  
  
With that, Sydney climbed from the ground, adjusted her hold on Peter so that his arms clasped around her neck were no longer totally cutting off her air supply, and skipped away, the little boy tugging on her hair and shouting, "Faster, horsey! Faster!" as she went.  
  
Malcolm watched her go with a smirk that somehow missed out on some of its ordinary malice. The sight of her trying to take care of three children at once was somehow too adorable to sneer at. Particularly when that little dress of hers flipped up almost to her waist as she 'galloped' about the room. Shaking his head, he returned to his sketch, somewhat awkwardly done as a result of both chair and table being several times too small for any ordinary teenage boy, and at least one time too small for Malcolm.  
  
As he turned, his gaze met that of a pair of curious green eyes, their tears of anger evaporated.  
  
"Can I help you?" he demanded coldly of the little blonde girl.  
  
"You like her, don't you?" Kelly chirped.  
  
"No," Malcolm returned indignantly.  
  
"I think you do," Kelly argued. "You were looking at her."  
  
"I was gloating over her misfortune, if you must know," the dark-haired teen informed the child icily.  
  
"Then why were you checking out her legs?" the little boy now wearing Sydney's hat demanded. This little boy presented rather ridiculous spectacle, with a floppy brown hat covering his eyes and most of his nose, sandy hair poking out from the bottom, framing what could be seen of his face: his mouth, stretched into a rakish grin.  
  
"I was not!" Malcolm sputtered, flushing slightly.  
  
"Sure, sure," the little behatted fellow grinned before turning and sidling away, followed closely by Kelly.  
  
"And once again," Malcolm grumbled, "Collins and his other two goons get the easy job."  
  
  
  
  
  
"Get moving, you little twerps, or I'll take the hide off your backsides!" Mrs. Starkey bellowed, brandishing her ladle menacingly.  
  
"Ow..." Sam whimpered as the Kitchen Utensil of Death connected repeatedly with the side of his head.  
  
"Serves you right, Collins. The Principal's paying you to wash dishes, not stand around and look pretty," the cafeteria worker growled sternly.  
  
"Principal Pratchert isn't paying us," Amp informed her. "We're in detention."  
  
"That man's getting vicious with his detentions," Mrs. Starkey noted sadly.  
  
"Tell me about it," Tanker sighed. "Sydney has to go look after kids in the play center."  
  
"Well, that isn't so bad," she shrugged.  
  
"She's with Malcolm," Sam continued slowly, his expression the picture of solemnity.  
  
"No!" Mrs. Starkey gasped sarcastically.  
  
"Mrs. Starkey!" Tanker exclaimed reproachfully. "It's a big deal! Malcolm hates all of us! He's probably being awful to her!"  
  
"And she's probably too busy to notice," Mrs. Starkey finished with another shrug. In her own mind, she reflected that she'd never seen Malcolm picking specifically on Sydney, and in fact, some of the boy's more civil conversations had been with her. It had occurred to Mrs. Starkey more than once that the two would probably hit it off decently, if they ever had the opportunity to talk one-on-one, without Sam or Tanker there. To be sure, Sam tried to be halfway polite to Malcolm, but for reasons cheerleader related, Malcolm never responded with anything but coldness. Tanker...well, to have those two in the same room was dangerous. The mere fact that Malcolm knew Sydney only as 'a friend of Sam and Tanker' meant that they had little opportunity to interact as two civil, civilised people.  
  
However, Mrs. Starkey, being wise in her years, knew that Tanker, Sydney's very possessive sort-of-maybe-some-day boyfriend, would not appreciate the observation that his sort-of-maybe-some-day girlfriend could get along well with his enemy.  
  
But, this was no time for dramatic inner monologue. There were dishes to be washed, and she was more than ready to have her three temporary lackeys wash them.  
  
"Get back to the dishes, or I'll use your skins to make a new jacket!" she barked, smirking in satisfaction as the three young men scurried away to do her bidding.  
  
It was good, being the head honcho...  
  
  
  
  
  
"I hate children," Sydney announced as she dropped exhaustedly into the tiny chair beside the one that Malcolm was currently occupying.  
  
"Really," he murmured boredly, working busily away at the sketch laid out on the little crayon table in front of him.  
  
"Enjoying an arts-and-crafts time?" she inquired sweetly. "I could send some of the other children over to join you..."  
  
"You wouldn't dare..."  
  
"Why not? I'm sure there's some more finger-paint around here somewhere."  
  
"I will kill you if you send those brats over here with finger-paint," he growled, fixing her with a menacing glare, the menace of which seemed to be lost on her as she dissolved into giggles.  
  
"Of course I won't," she assured him. "But you know, that would look pretty good with a few streaks of blue finger-paint smeared across it."  
  
"Why are you here?" he demanded.  
  
"Ginny told me to take a breather," she replied.  
  
"Ginny?"  
  
"The girl in charge. The head sitter."  
  
"Oh. I wondered where everyone else was. It seemed like we were being left to do everything."  
  
She glared at him.  
  
"And exactly what have YOU done? Besides staking out a chair and laughing at my misfortune?"  
  
"What else should I be doing?"  
  
"Um...helping out?!"  
  
He sighed, closing his sketchbook.  
  
"I'm not good with children, Sydney. You heard that one little boy. They think I'm a vampire."  
  
"That's only because they know you don't like them. Children can sense these things, you know."  
  
"That hasn't stopped them from climbing all over you."  
  
"That's because I didn't hate children until today," she sighed.  
  
"Syddie! Come play dress-up with us!" a high-pitched voice requested.  
  
"But it doesn't look like it's going to be going away anytime soon. Coming, Kelly!" she shouted to the little girl, suppressing with great difficulty a pained whimper. Then she turned to Malcolm. "Hey, if I have to suffer through this, so do you."  
  
With that snap decision, she dragged him from his chair and over to the large wooden chest surrounded by children that apparently comprised the Dress-Up Center.  
  
"Oh, no!" Malcolm protested. "There is no way in Hell that you are going to get me to dress up!"  
  
"And there's no way in hell I'm going through this alone," she rejoined. "And the kids want SOMEONE to play with them. So either we both do it, or YOU do it."  
  
"Why can't Ginny do it?" he demanded.  
  
"Because Ginny, and Sarah and Angie, are playing Spacemen and Aliens with the other twenty kids here."  
  
"Well, that's good to know."  
  
She looked at him strangely, blinking, and he immediately stifled the thought that the puzzlement in her dark eyes made her look absolutely adorable.  
  
"What is?"  
  
"That someone has it worse than we do," he replied with a smirk.  
  
Sydney glanced over to where a woman, about mid to late twenties, and two girls of around sixteen, were currently being tackled to the ground and hit repeatedly in the stomach by little boys and girls armed with toy guns.  
  
"You're right about that. NOTHING could be as bad as that."  
  
Oh, Sydney, Sydney, Sydney...you were supposed to be the smart one! Don't you know that those words hold the power to place both you and your fellow babysitter within situations of unnamed peril, agony, and silliness?  
  
You will learn, child. You will learn...  
  
  
  
"I am NOT wearing that," Malcolm announced with a tone of finality five minutes later as he scornfully surveyed the object that the children were presenting him with.  
  
"You are, too!" a little girl with her pale red hair fashioned into a sleek braid who had introduced herself as Blaine, shot back. "You're the prince! You need a prince hat!"  
  
"It's a tiara!" the young man exclaimed, snatching the glittering piece of silver-painted plastic and shaking it so hard that the little blue plastic 'gems' embedded into it began to rattle.  
  
"Well...we don't have a boy crown," Blaine shrugged. "Syddie! Put on your princess hat!"  
  
"Oh...great," Sydney commented, forcing a smile as she slid the little tiara onto her head, hooking it under her mass of curls. "Well, as long as that little boy has my hat, I don't have anything else covering my head..."  
  
"Why DO you wear hats all the time, anyway?" Malcolm asked, frowning.  
  
"I don't really know," she replied, brow wrinkling slightly as she considered this. "Just a habit, I suppose."  
  
"Mmm. You shouldn't," he said.  
  
"Why?"  
  
He shrugged.  
  
"Hides your face too much."  
  
"Is...is that bad?"  
  
He shrugged again, more uneasily. Why had he said anything in the first place? It was just an observation. By God, this was why he didn't talk to people! A simple statement could bring about a barrage of questions.  
  
"It's because he thinks you're pretty," Kelly announced before she, Blaine, Lori, Rebecca, Patti, Denise, and Iris erupted into giggles.  
  
When the girls finally calmed down, Kelly took charge, as seemed to be her wont.  
  
"Okay; Sydney, you're the princess who gets put into a deep sleep by an evil witch while you're out gathering apples," the little brunette announced.  
  
"Why is a princess gathering apples?" Blaine wanted to know. "Wouldn't she send her servants to do it?" "She gave the servants a day off," Kelly explained with a cool dignity.  
  
Blaine nodded.  
  
"Okay!"  
  
"I'm going to be the evil witch until you're asleep," Kelly continued. "And then all of us are going to be fairies."  
  
"Wonderful," Malcolm muttered.  
  
"And all the fairies are going to go find the handsome prince..." Here, Kelly broke off, gazing consideringly at Malcolm. "...Well, the prince, anyway, and they'll lead him to the princess's bedchamber."  
  
"Let's keep this family entertainment," Ginny chuckled, overhearing as she happened past the Dress-Up station to the much more commonly used First-Aid station in search of a Band-Aid.  
  
Both teens glared at her, their cheeks growing simultaneously warm.  
  
Kelly frowned, confused by that silly adult's cryptic words, and then shook it off and continued.  
  
"And then the handsome - the prince wakes the beautiful princess with a kiss of true love, and they live happily ever after!" she finished, clapping her hands delightedly at the romance of it all. It wasn't often they had a grown-up boy in here to play with them, and none of the little boys would ever be the prince. And anyway, these things were better when grown-ups acted them out, weren't they? They seemed more real. Not only that, but a grown-up boy certainly wouldn't mind kissing a pretty girl, would he?  
  
"Absolutely not!" Malcolm exclaimed, breaking into her thoughts. "I refuse. Find some other idiot to be the prince."  
  
"I heard yelling," Ginny announced, sidling over with a bandage stretching across her forehead and a stern expression in her eye. "Is everyone playing nice?"  
  
"Yes, of course," Sydney assured her. "We were just about to start playing a game, weren't we, Malcolm?"  
  
"Ow!" he yelped as her elbow dug into his ribs. "What was that for?"  
  
She leaned in closer.  
  
"If you treat the children badly, Ginny WILL tell the principal, and you'll be back here again next week. And while I think it would serve you right, and I'd like nothing more than to see you suffer at this point, it isn't fair to the children to stick them with you."  
  
He opened his mouth to deliver an angry response, then closed it again, frowning as the sensibleness of her words hit him.  
  
"Damnit!" he hissed before turning to Ginny. "Yes, we're going to play a game of Fairies and Princesses."  
  
"How nice!" Ginny giggled, winking at Sydney. "Well, have fun."  
  
With that, she turned to leave, and the game of fantasy and romance began, with it dwindling the sanity of both Malcolm and Sydney... 


	2. Part II

Chapter 2  
  
  
  
New Disclaimer: Okay, I also don't own the Mighty Morphin' Power Rangers. I mention them a few times in here, and thought that the disclaimer should be altered to cover that.  
  
  
  
  
  
"Well, that's the last of them," Mrs. Starkey announced, setting her ladle, brandished menacingly until now, on a nearby counter and clapping Sam on the shoulder with one hand and Amp with the other. Both boys staggered slightly beneath Mrs. Starkey's surprising strength. "You can go now."  
  
"Really? Thanks, Mrs. S!" Tanker exclaimed, tossing his hairnet aside and starting immediately for the door.  
  
Sam was a little more reluctant.  
  
"Are...are you sure there's nothing else we can help you with here?" he choked.  
  
Mrs. Starkey looked thoughtful.  
  
"The cabinets could use a good scrubbing," she finally announced. "Wait there. I'll be back with rags and buckets in a minute."  
  
As she bustled away, Tanker shot Sam a withering glare.  
  
"Thanks, buddy," he bit out sarcastically. "She was gonna let us go!"  
  
"Yeah, but the detention time isn't up yet, Tank," Sam explained calmly. "If she'd sent us back to Pratchert, we'd probably be doing something a lot worse than cleaning cabinets."  
  
"Yeah," Amp agreed. Then he shuddered. "We could be...baby-sitting."  
  
Sam made a motion somewhere between a shudder and a nod and a twitch.  
  
"Yeah, I get plenty of that with Elizabeth."  
  
"Yeah; me, too," Tanker agreed.  
  
Sam frowned.  
  
"Tank, when was the last time you baby-sat for Elizabeth?"  
  
"Never, man. I don't baby-sit. I just meant that I hear you talk about it enough that I feel like I was actually there. And I didn't want to be."  
  
"Alright, kids, go to it," Mrs. Starkey commanded as she returned, setting down a huge bucket of soapy water, complete with several rags floating in it, at Sam's feet.  
  
"On second thought," Tanker sighed, gazing about in dismay at the rows upon rows of cabinets, "an afternoon with screaming kids doesn't seem quite so bad."  
  
  
  
  
  
Meanwhile, Malcolm was reflecting that an afternoon in front of a firing squad didn't seem quite so bad.  
  
He was currently garbed in an ill-fitting tuxedo jacket that some parent or other had donated for the dress-up box, a scarf of lavender lace draped around his neck, that damned tiara on his head, and carrying a hobbyhorse.  
  
"Now the prince mounts his violent steed-" Kelly commanded.  
  
"You mean, valiant steed," Malcolm interrupted. 'This is embarrassing...'  
  
"Whatever!" Kelly said impatiently. "Just get on the horse and gallop to the castle where the beautiful princess sleeps."  
  
"Damn her," Malcolm muttered, glaring at the unmoving form in the corner as he pretended to gallop around the room on the hobbyhorse. "She gets the easy role."  
  
"You should have told me you wanted to be the princess, Malcolm," Sydney called from the corner of the room where she was stretched out on the floor, pretending to be in a deep, enchanted sleep. "The dress would have suited you."  
  
"Shut up!" he called back.  
  
"Now, now," Ginny of the ever-listening ear admonished sternly from a nearby table where she was attempting to show several children the fine craft of macaroni art. "We don't permit the 's'-word in this room."  
  
"Sorry," Malcolm sighed insincerely, returning to his galloping.  
  
"Now the fairies will lead you to your princess," Blaine announced as the little girls, all with similar scarves to his tied around their heads, grabbed his hand and dragged him across the room.  
  
"And now what?" Malcolm demanded, tossing the hobbyhorse to one side and crossing his arms as he glared down at Sydney, who apparently had gotten the worse end of the deal as far as the dress-up aspect of things went. The girls had found a rather ghastly pink polyester evening gown, donated to the dress-up box for the obvious reason that its previous owner had likely come down off of their 70's high and realized that the garment had no good qualities.  
  
The instant the little girls had seen it, though, they had fallen in love with it, and had insisted that their princess was to wear it, whoever she might be on any given day.  
  
This look had been completed by several scarves tied around her arms for 'princess sleeves,' since the strappy pink gown hadn't quite given the effect the little girls had seen in the movies that compiled their experience with princesses.  
  
And, of course, was the tiara. Malcolm wondered briefly how she would manage to disentangle that thing from her hair, or if she would at all.  
  
"And now you have to kiss her to wake her up!" Denise exclaimed, shoving him closer to Sydney.  
  
"No chance in Hell," Malcolm insisted, narrowly avoiding stepping on the 'sleeping' girl on the floor.  
  
"But you HAVE to!" Blaine exclaimed, angry tears already beginning. "It's the only way to wake her up."  
  
"Actually, I feel pretty awake now," Sydney announced, sitting up abruptly. "I had a lot of coffee before the evil witch put me to sleep. Up early gathering those apples, y'know."  
  
"No!" Kelly exclaimed, shoving Sydney back down to the floor and earning a pained squeak as the young woman's head collided painfully with the tile. "He has to wake you with a kiss of true love!"  
  
"That isn't necessary, really. Why do princesses always need princes to get them out of trouble, anyway? Why don't you ever hear about the independent princesses who become doctors and lawyers, or rule alone and lead their kingdoms to harmony, prosperity, and happiness, and live full lives without men?" the dark-haired girl demanded, sitting up again and trying to tug the little plastic 'princess hat' from her hair.  
  
"We wanna see a kiss!" Kelly, Denise, Blaine, and various and sundry other little girls shrieked together.  
  
"Oh, I sense a tantrum coming on," Sydney sighed, feeling rather close to tears herself.  
  
Malcolm smirked.  
  
"Funny; I sense about eight tantrums coming on."  
  
"Nine, if you count mine."  
  
"I already counted yours. And mine."  
  
"Gotcha. Um...Malcolm? Do you think we should just play along so they don't all start screaming?"  
  
"Absolutely not," the young man said, crossing his arms and turning away emphatically.  
  
"Brat," Sydney muttered, wincing as several piercing wails, from the little girls who wanted very badly to have their little fairy tale ended properly, echoed through the room.  
  
"What?" Malcolm demanded sharply, wheeling about and kneeling next to her to catch her eye in order to glare more effectively.  
  
"Just what I say," she replied airily. "Anyone who wasn't at the maturity level of these children, himself, would just play along to preserve the peace."  
  
"Fine," he snapped, shoving her back to the ground.  
  
"Eep!" she shrieked, quite unprepared for this.  
  
And even more unprepared for what came after.  
  
'Oh...my,' Sydney thought rather faintly as she found a pair of lips crushed against hers, a body pinning her firmly to the ground, a hand tangled into her hair and another hand tightening over her arm. 'This just goes to show, insulting Malcolm's level of maturity is a great way to get what you want...not that I WANT this, of course...heh-heh-heh... Um...I wonder if he's planning on stopping any time soon,' she finished, quite unaware that she was responding as favourably as she was.  
  
'Uh...was that a tongue?' Malcolm was meanwhile wondering, his eyes widening in surprise as...something traced slowly along his lower lip and then darted inside his mouth. 'Hmm...you really can't ever tell with the quiet ones. I suppose, though, that these little brats will accept that their princess is awake now. Yes, I suppose now is as good a time as any to bring this to a stop.'  
  
Two minutes later, Malcolm felt a hand clap down on his shoulder and drag him to his feet. The next moment, he found himself staring into the very angry face of Ginny.  
  
"And just WHAT do you think you're doing?" she demanded, glaring at him until he felt that he would be lit on fire by the sheer force of her glare.  
  
"Er...well...uh..." he stammered lamely, quite aware that he had no answer for this himself.  
  
"He was the prince!" the ever-helpful Kelly chirped. "He had to awaken the beautiful princess with a kiss!"  
  
Ginny raised an eyebrow at Sydney, who was still on the ground, looking rather stunned and dishevelled.  
  
"Um...yeah, that's about it," she confirmed, still trying to unwind a curl from around the tiara, now somewhat askew.  
  
"Well," Ginny began. "I would say the princess is awake now, so why don't you all put your dress-up things away and come watch the video with us?"  
  
"Which viddie? Which viddie?" Denise asked, hanging off of the woman's arm and radiating so much excitement and energy that it was incredibly doubtful that she would have found it in her young mind to sit still long enough to watch any 'viddie.'  
  
"The Mighty Morphin' Power Rangers Movie," Ginny replied.  
  
"Yaay!" cheered several of the little girls.  
  
"The...Power Rangers movie," Malcolm repeated slowly, scratching his head and carefully not looking at the dark-haired girl to his left.  
  
"Yeah," Sydney confirmed, equally carefully avoiding his eyes. "I saw that one. It wasn't bad."  
  
Malcolm raised an eyebrow.  
  
"You actually paid money to see that?"  
  
"Well...Sam was taking Elizabeth to see it, and...I was bored that afternoon. So I went with them."  
  
He chuckled slightly.  
  
"Ah."  
  
"And I think the guy in red is cute," she added. "He kind of looks like Tanker."  
  
"Ah," he said again, slightly more coldly as they made their way to the dress-up trunk and began shoving their costumes into it.  
  
"I hate polyester," she announced with a sigh, yanking the dress up over her head and very nearly taking her own dress with it.  
  
"Hey, watch it," Malcolm expostulated, colouring slightly and looking away abruptly as a rather indecent amount of leg - all of it - was exposed.  
  
"Sorry," she murmured, blushing as she tugged her own dress back down to her knees. "I also hate static cling."  
  
"Mmm. I hate everything," he announced.  
  
"I know," she assured him, slamming the chest shut.  
  
"Shut up," he requested, shooting her a glare before turning and stalking away angrily.  
  
She blinked several times, rather startled. Then, with a tiny sigh, not quite sure why his obvious anger with her was more upsetting than it should have been, she started over to the corner of the room where the other four volunteers, plus upwards of thirty children, were all deeply engrossed in the adventures of the Mighty Morphin' Power Rangers.  
  
Well, three other volunteers and upwards of thirty children. It didn't escape her instant notice that the dark-haired boy seated at the same table he had staked out previously, sketching doggedly away at something. She sighed again. It would probably be a bad idea to go ask what was wrong. And honestly, who cared, anyway? This was still Malcolm. The fact that he was a remarkably good kisser - God only knew where he had gotten his practice - was entirely beside the point. He'd never shown any interest in anything troubling her, so why should she rush over to him when he was upset?  
  
That said, she would just sit here and enjoy the movie. Her brow wrinkled in confusion as the utterly gratuitous roller-blading scene, existing only for the purpose of showing all of the very good-looking young people of the cast in skimpy summer clothes, began. Okay, maybe 'enjoy' was too strong a word...  
  
"Bored?" Ginny muttered to her.  
  
"This...just isn't my sort of movie," she explained sheepishly.  
  
Ginny laughed.  
  
"Oh, believe me, I understand. Me, I'd hate this, if it weren't for that guy in blue. He's pretty cute..."  
  
"Ah. I like the guy in red, myself."  
  
"Really? I would have guessed the guy in black..."  
  
"Um...why?"  
  
"Well, you know; he's got the same fashion sense and colouring as your fellow babysitter over there. And from the way you two were...well, stage- kissing a little too convincingly to be STAGE-kissing, I'd say you like him well enough."  
  
"No! That was entirely accidental. We just kissed to make the little girls stop whining! I don't know why it got so out of hand, but-"  
  
"Don't have to explain it to me. I'd just rather it not be in front of the children. Anyway, if you're bored, why don't you take little Stevie over there to the nurse's office? He seems a little...queasy, and I think we're going to have him lie down until his parents come for him. You can take Malcolm with you, but if you two don't come back, we're checking every supply closet along the way."  
  
"Ginny!" Sydney exclaimed.  
  
"What?" Ginny asked innocently.  
  
Sydney shook her head helplessly.  
  
"Never mind. Which one's Stevie?"  
  
Ginny pointed to a little redheaded boy clad in brown corduroys and a green sweater, slumped weakly over one of the tables.  
  
"Poor little guy," Sydney commented sympathetically.  
  
"Poor little guy, nothing," Ginny snorted. "If he didn't want to be sick, he shouldn't have eaten an entire tube of paste."  
  
"Eugh. Okay, I see what you mean. Well, bye."  
  
A little girl tugged on Ginny's sleeve.  
  
"Ginny, can I go with Stevie too?"  
  
"No, Kelly, you can stay here with everyone else and watch the video. Stevie needs to have a little lie-down, and I doubt he'll be able to do it if one of his friends is there."  
  
Kelly's face fell.  
  
"Oh. Well, can I give him a lolly to make him feel better?"  
  
"I don't think giving him candy is the best course of action," Ginny said dryly. "But with all the paste in his system, it doesn't really matter. Go ahead."  
  
"Yaay!" Kelly chirped.  
  
Ginny and Sydney exchanged amused glances as the little girl sidled over to the table where the little boy sat and slid a purple lollipop underneath his arm where it was folded on the table. The little boy looked up and shot her a watery smile. She returned it shyly before scurrying away, blushing.  
  
"Isn't that cute?" Sydney sighed.  
  
"Yeah," Ginny agreed. "Now, get moving, or I'll let Angie and Sarah take him to the office."  
  
"I'm going, I'm going," the younger girl assured her, rushing over to the little table where Malcolm was still deeply engrossed in his sketch.  
  
  
  
Upon noticing a shadow cast over his sketchbook, nearly blocking out his sketch of him beating the crap out of Kilokhan with a folding chair, Malcolm glared up at the cause.  
  
"Yes?"  
  
"Ginny wants us to take Stevie over there to the office."  
  
"Does she?" Malcolm asked absently, going back to his sketch.  
  
"Yes. So, let's go."  
  
He glared at her again.  
  
"I don't feel like it. Why don't you go?"  
  
"Alright," she agreed with a shrug. "If you don't want a few minutes of relief from all these kids, I'll be more than glad to take it by myself."  
  
I'd be more than glad to have a few minutes relief from you, too, she didn't add. Aloud, at any rate.  
  
With that, she turned and started toward the other table, where Stevie sat, slurping happily away at the offering left by Kelly.  
  
"Hold on!" Malcolm called. "I hadn't thought of it that way. I'll come with you."  
  
"Whatever you want," she agreed with a shrug. "C'mon, Stevie. We're going to take you to the nurse's office."  
  
"I don't want the vampire to come!" Stevie wailed.  
  
Malcolm rolled his eyes.  
  
"Look, honey, Malcolm isn't a vampire, okay? He's just...anyway, I'll carry you, so there's no chance of any creepy-crawlies getting you. Would you like that?"  
  
Stevie nodded, wiping his eyes with his fists miserably, and then holding out his arms for her to pick him up.  
  
"I hope your arms fall off from the weight of that kid," Malcolm muttered to her as Stevie snuggled comfortably against her shoulder.  
  
"I don't think that'll happen," she replied sweetly. "After all, I'm not you. I do have SOME arm strength."  
  
"You'll see how much arm strength I have when I'm strangling you later."  
  
"Now, THAT isn't what Ginny would call 'playing nice,'" Sydney admonished.  
  
"Shut up."  
  
"Don't use the s-word!" Stevie commanded, lifting his head to glare at Malcolm as the trio set off down the hall.  
  
"Yeah, Malcolm," Sydney agreed, suppressing a laugh. "No s-word."  
  
"Are we almost to the office yet?" Malcolm whined.  
  
  
  
"Whew," Sam sighed. "I'm exhausted. Is it almost time to leave?"  
  
"Four-thirty," Tanker groaned in dismay.  
  
"We've got another HOUR?!"  
  
"'Fraid so," the taller boy replied.  
  
"Isn't this great, guys?!" Amp called excitedly from his perch high atop the cabinets of the cafeteria kitchen. "What a cool place to take a nap!"  
  
"Hey, if you boys are done with the cabinets, I got another job for you," Mrs. Starkey announced gruffly as she sidled past.  
  
"Uh...what's that, Mrs. S?" Sam asked hesitantly, certain that this wouldn't be pleasant.  
  
"Well, once every couple months, I like to scrape all the gum off of the underside of the tables. This just happens to be that special day, so grab a scraper and join in the fun," she commanded, taking one of the somewhat worn drywall spreaders and starting toward the door of the kitchen leading into the cafeteria.  
  
Sam looked at Tanker.  
  
Tanker looked at Sam.  
  
Amp fell off the cabinet.  
  
And in the distance, a dog barked.  
  
Then, as one, all three boys fled the cafeteria kitchen, leaving a Sam- shaped dust cloud, a Tanker-shaped dust cloud, and an Amp-shaped dust cloud in their wake.  
  
  
  
  
  
"NOW are we almost to the office?" Malcolm asked desperately. Honestly, if he had to listen to this little brat's constant chatter much longer, he honestly might snap and break something. Oh, and of course, the little boy was becoming rather trying, as well.  
  
It astonished him, the sheer number of things Sydney found to prattle about, and to him, who had never shown the remotest interest in conversation with her.  
  
"...and that's why I'm never, ever, EVER going over to Amp's on Halloween again," she was currently concluding, quite ignoring his question. "I think I still have little bits of pumpkin innards in my ear. Who knew it was an ancient Pere family tradition to have pulp-fights every year?"  
  
"Yes, who indeed?" he murmured, rubbing his eyes tiredly, silently begging the heavens for a way to get her to stop talking.  
  
"Well! It looks like we're at the nurse's office. Let's go inside and get you settled, okay, Stevie?"  
  
It was harder to say whether Stevie or Malcolm was more relieved to hear this.  
  
Stevie had, certainly, been ill at ease in Malcolm's presence, casting nervous glances at the young man to make sure that long, pointed fangs hadn't materialised from somewhere. After all, hadn't he tried to steal Syddie's blood? What else could he have been doing earlier, lying on top of her like that, that would have made Ginny so angry?  
  
On the other hand, Malcolm was fairly aching to entreat his fellow babysitter to shut up, and it had quickly been imbedded in his mind that he couldn't use the 's'-word around the children. It was simply a lot easier to put up with Sydney's inane prattle than it was to go into lengthy and equally inane arguments with Stevie. However, as soon as the child was gone, he would take enormous pleasure in telling her that if she didn't shut up, he would strangle her and shove her into a supply closet where Ginny could find her, if she chose to search.  
  
As for him, he would be long gone when that happened, already relishing the freedom of being out of school for another day.  
  
This lovely vision kept Malcolm from growling out an angry response when Stevie bid a fond farewell to his new pal, 'Syddie,' and called out a rather derisive one to 'Mr. Vampire' as the two teens turned to leave the nurse's office.  
  
Thus, he was rather disappointed when, by the time the journey back to the 'playroom' was half over, Sydney had failed to say a single word.  
  
However, as they rounded a corner, and saw three figures approaching at a dizzying rate, it seemed as though life had once again become interesting.  
  
"Sam? Tanker? Amp? What are you guys doing?" Sydney demanded, grabbing Tanker's sleeve in attempt to bring him to a stop, and serving only to get herself dragged along behind him for twenty yards, at which point it occurred to him that there was a girl hanging off of his sleeve, and he stopped running.  
  
"What does it look like we're doing?" Sam replied amid gasps for breath. "We're running for our lives!"  
  
"Oh, no," the young woman sighed. "Did you send Mrs. Starkey into a blind, murderous rage again?"  
  
Malcolm raised an eyebrow. Again?  
  
"No, no, nothing like that," Sam assured her. "She wanted us to help scrape all the gum out from under the tables in the cafeteria."  
  
"Blech," Sydney noted articulately.  
  
"Yeah, 'blech' about covers it," Sam nodded. "So, where are you two headed?"  
  
"Back into the seventh layer of Hell," Malcolm grumbled.  
  
"In other words, back to the room with all the kids," Sydney translated. Then she paused for a minute. "Yeah, the seventh layer of Hell is pretty accurate."  
  
Tanker smirked.  
  
"What have they been doing to you, Miss Kids-Are-So-Great?"  
  
"Tanker," Sydney began slowly, "have you ever tried to tell a fairytale, give a piggy-back ride, scrub finger-paint off your dress, AND break up a fight between Malcolm and the kid who decided he was a vampire, at the same time?"  
  
"Uh...I don't wear dresses," Tanker reminded her.  
  
"Yutz," Malcolm muttered under his breath.  
  
"Oh, shut up, Count Dracula," Tanker shot back, apparently hearing this.  
  
"I'M NOT A DAMNED VAMPIRE!" Malcolm howled, by now far past the end of his tether. "HAVE YOU EVER SEEN ME DRINKING BLOOD?!"  
  
"Well, not in the literal sense," Sydney admitted.  
  
"Aside from that one time," Amp interjected. "Wait a second...that wasn't you. That was my pet rabbit."  
  
"Amp, that was Bunnacula," Tanker informed him.  
  
"And a good little pet he was," Amp sighed, his eyes going shiny with the sweet memories.  
  
"You can be pretty parasitic at times, though," Sam commented, observing Malcolm closely.  
  
Malcolm, predictably, fixed Sam with a glare that could have withered a stone.  
  
"Shut up, Collins."  
  
"Hey, I'm just teasing, Malcolm. Anyway, Syd," he continued, turning to his friend, "we're planning on making a break for it. We're gonna go get ice cream! You in?"  
  
"I don't know, Sam. Won't we get in even more trouble if we don't show up again at the end of the detention?"  
  
"After all, if we don't come back, Ginny will be checking all the supply closets between here and the office," Malcolm murmured with a smirk.  
  
Sam looked at him strangely, then shook his head and replied.  
  
"Normally, yeah. But Mr. P had to go home suddenly - Mrs. P and Yoli accidentally got their cat stuck in the dishwasher-"  
  
"Don't you hate when that happens?" Amp commented aside.  
  
"-and he has to bring a plumber home."  
  
"I'd have thought a veterinarian, myself," Sydney said absently, pondering the implications of this situation. "So...Principal Pratchert won't be checking up on us?"  
  
"No way! I heard him tell Mrs. Starkey to just dismiss us from the cafeteria, and I'm pretty sure he told the people at the fun-station to do the same with you guys."  
  
"Hmph! Well, if that's all, I think I'll be going now."  
  
Sam mock-pouted.  
  
"Aw...don't you want to come with us for ice cream?"  
  
"I'd sooner be shot," Malcolm snorted.  
  
"Well! I'm glad to see that you've all learned to get along," a voice from behind them commented amiably, but with a hint of steel behind it.  
  
Five very frightened teenagers turned slowly to behold the sternly frowning countenance of Principal Pratchert. Then he chuckled as his eyes flickered from Sam, Tanker, and Amp to Sydney and Malcolm.  
  
"Especially you two. Ginny told me about the...ah...interesting display you two put on for the kids."  
  
Sam raised an eyebrow as the two murmured weakly, blushing painfully.  
  
"At any rate, you five are going to be spending a lot more time together. I don't suppose you're familiar with my rule that trying to skip out on detention will result in attending the rest of the week?"  
  
What?!" Malcolm sputtered. "Four more days?!"  
  
Principal Pratchert nodded, rubbing his hands together and cackling in delight.  
  
"Well, I guess I'll let you off for the rest of today. After all, you'll need your strength. I've just spoken to Ginny, and she said she can always use more help in the play center. So, you'll be heading there tomorrow, just as soon as you've all helped Mrs. Starkey scrape that gum off of the tables. Well, have a nice afternoon, everybody!"  
  
And so, five very miserable people shuffled out of the school, two of whom were trying to explain amidst painful blushes to a very curious third exactly what "interesting display" the principal had been talking about, and why they would likely not be playing dress-up with the little girls the following day.  
  
This, of course, suited them just fine. At least, this is what they will claim.  
  
But we all know better, don't we?  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
End Notes: Well! That about wraps it up. I apologize for not clarifying last chapter that there would be another bit. Anyway, thanks for reading. Hmm...it occurs to me now that I never got around to doing any of that Sam/Jennifer or Am/Yoli stuff that I was planning. Ah, well. The story was basically an excuse for me to use the 'Let's...SANITIZE, GUYS!' joke, and to vent my anger at children who demand several different things of their babysitters at the same time, regardless of the several things that those babysitters are already obviously busy doing. Oh, yeah. And to throw in a bit of silly, fluffy Malcolm/Sydney romance-ness. Ya think I'm obsessed yet? ^_^ 


End file.
